


Travel Music

by sanctum_c



Series: Tifa Week 2019 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, Music, Sound, Travel, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctum_c/pseuds/sanctum_c
Summary: The soundtrack to Tifa's life.
Series: Tifa Week 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016010





	Travel Music

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'music'

In Nibelheim, music was old. Not boring as many old things were, but distanced by some years from the current. Mom taught Tifa her first clumsy attempts on the piano, more and more pleased as Tifa improved, able to pick out complex tunes, her mother sitting with her eyes closed. When she passed away Tifa didn’t play for a long time – and after tried to only do so when her father was not home.

The sheet music she had, the records and radio stations her father preferred were at least fifty years old if not more. Different to the music of her peers, who strained to hear distant radio stations never intended for so isolated a place as Nibelheim. She liked the music, or was happy when it was on, or was simply used to it. Her father would dismiss the modern rubbish her friends would seek out or the town shop would occasionally play. Nothing seemingly wrong with it – the little Tifa heard. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower than her father’s collection. But distinctly other. Infectious too; the newer music boasted tunes easily taking up home in her head.

A few times she tried to pick out something similar on the piano, but there was a disconnect between the instrument’s capabilities and the fleetingly heard tune.

In Sector Seven, music was new. Old music, familiar orchestrations provided background for films, for TV, for adverts. Sometimes it reworked as the foundation for something new – the old augmented by electronic throbs, by crashing howls of guitars and relentless bass capable of shaking Tifa to her core. No attempts to replicate anything here. No piano – and no shortage of music in the air. Frustratingly this applied all too regularly to sleeping hours. Night was both constant and illusionary in the city; daylight too fleeing beneath the plates, and harsh artificial light taking up the slack.

‘Modern rubbish’ was not dismissed so easily. Some bad songs, songs not to her taste, ones she grew sick of, and ones she could not help but listen to every-time. People sang about life, about love, about death. Elaborate and fantastical stories given form in song – and at some point with a vogue for bemoaning existence. Aside from the occasional sleeping-time nuisance, most in Sector Seven experienced music in their homes. Places in adjacent sectors; places to dance, to drink, to flirt. Tifa tired of them quickly, the cost of keeping hydrated, the constant attention, unwanted touches in the crush of people. Music louder her, almost oppressive, the function to get people moving.

In Kalm, music was almost mid-way between Nibelheim and Midgar. The richer families here aspired to the same kind of aloofness and snobbishness her father was so guilty of. They harkened back to the good old days – before this modern stuff. Easy to spot them in the populace; they always looked askance at the extreme sports types using Kalm as a base for their camping trips – the speciality store crammed with sports fanatics in high contrast colours typically had some modern – and aggressive music playing.

In Junon, music was something to forget. This was perhaps more of a case of bad timing. Likely music would have been near identical to what was favoured in Midgar, but - thanks to Rufus - distinctly different. A brass band saluting the new president blaring out at uncomfortable volumes. Avalanche suffered through the practices, through the performance – and were aboard the cargo ship and off towards Costa del Sol before anything like normalcy returned to the city.

In Costa del Sol, music was relaxing. Not as variable as in Midgar. Very much the domain of the modern, but slower, languid. Songs about relaxing on the beach, swimming in the water, meeting a boy, a girl, multiples of each and - as per some suggestive murmuring – sleeping with them. It played distantly during Avalanche’s relaxation on the beach, in the restaurants and bars in the evening. Refreshingly silent when night fell; partiers stayed up late, but everything tailed off in the end leaving only the sounds of the surf.

In the Gold Saucer, music faded into the background. A jaunty tune – the theme park’s signature – was catchy, annoying, and forgettable in order. Displaced at times with other cues; sinister music for the hotel, a frantic fiddle for the Chocobo race track. Mock-classical for the theatre.

In Gongaga, music was a rarity. Power was often too precious to waste on trying to pick up radio broadcasts when the air was humid and suffocating. When each day was a hard won gain on the previous.

In Cosmo Canyon, music was older than ever before. But it felt fresher, newer than her father’s tastes. Drumming, chanting, flutes. Here the flames entranced and the music felt familiar, Cosmo Canyon felt familiar. An unlooked for other home.

No music in Nibelheim, eerie traces of what might be singing on Mount Nibel and if there was anything in Rocket Town it remained unheard in the frantic chase from Shinra.

In Wutai, music was both imported and local. Familiar songs from the cities clashed with the unfamiliar, sung in Wutainese. All modern rubbish, and Yuffie soon tired of questions of what this particular particular song was about, and her reiterating the recognisable standard was included for effect instead of meaning. The traditional – or perhaps – older music was nothing like Tifa’s impression of it. Here immaculately dressed musicians performed on unfamiliar instruments to unforgettable effect.

In both the Temple of the Ancients and the City beyond the Sleeping Forest, music was in the air. No tunes, no melodies, nothing Tifa could articulate, but the air shimmered with movement and motion. The impossible space of the Temple gave rise to impossible sights and impossible sounds. The movement of Avalanche along a passage, the tick of a giant clock set above a pit, the glimpses between sections, those strange chirps of the vestiges of the Temple guards.

What had the City been like when populated? Did they have music here? The same feel as the temple, the movements along paths, the swirl of wind across the crumbling debris. The feel of ancient tradition.

The chime of a materia against stone.

Such a beautiful sound.

Such a tragic cost.


End file.
